Royal weddings were an entire affair which demanded the attendance of all the noble lords and ladies of the realm.
Aerion could see it throughout the Red Keep where servants were rushing left and right, constant wedding preparations needed to be quickly commissioned – and the more obvious increase of Hightower guests circulating around the castle grounds. The Lord Hand wasted no time in letting his family take over what was necessary and the Princess had obviously taken her time into drowning herself in books, seeking comfort and often dismissing her ladies more often than before.
Aerion was not blind. His uncle would sometimes sigh at the difficulty that his nephew and daughter share the same temperament as any Targaryen. Restless and chaotic.
And yet sometimes, Aerion couldn't help but wonder if his uncle truly knew what it meant to be a dragon sitting on the Iron Throne.
His gaze landed on the empty space between the lords and ladies of court, the space where Princess Rhaenys would stand with her husband. The woman who the young prince believed to have the necessary temperament to rule. The realm demands a new Queen, that much is true.
But the mockery of decency, with every glance he stole of Alicent Hightower – was no longer filled with a sense of boyish longing. But the feeling of betrayal and the possible dangers that the King himself had forced upon Rhaenyra.
He could never forget that.
He would never forgive that.
Aerion didn't know which betrayal had caused him more pain. The expectations of his father, who was so willing to set him aside for a possible bastard? Or the expectations of his uncle who wanted to believe that Aerion, of their family, would understand that this compromise was necessary for the realm.
"A strange turn of events, isn't it, my Prince?" Aerion's gaze landed on Lady Alroa of House Fell, one of Rhaenyra's more older Ladies-in-waiting who would soon leave her service after the celebrations. "A daughter of a second son to become Queen."
"Ambitions are no stranger to the very color of envy, my Lady." The Hightowers of Oldtown were an ancient and noble family of impeccable lineage. Viserys would like to believe that there could be no possible objection to his choice of bride.
But Viserys' head was often high up in the clouds while Aerion stood on the ground listening to the whispers around them. How the Lord Hand had purposefully brought his daughter to court for this very reason. How some whispers had reached his ear, questioning the Lady Alicent's virtue, suggesting that she had welcomed King Viserys to her bed after the late Queen's death.
It all felt like that the court was suddenly a nest of hissing vipers. Aerion quietly watched the Lady Alicent, standing beside the King as she looked small beneath the wight of the court's sudden attention to herself, fingers picking nervously, and yet, she wore the green of her house like armor. As if it were a victory for Oldtown. To be a disaster amongst dragons.
Aerion turned back to the older noblewoman beside him, Aerion immediately masked his sense of bitterness behind a practiced smile. "Rhaenyra has spoken of your departure, my Lady. I did not think it would be so soon."
The prince instinctively offered his arm to the Lady Fell, a courteous gesture that she had accepted with a fleeing, yet polite smile.
"The grander the feast, Prince Aerion, the more bitter the morning after," Lady Alroa murmured, leaning in slightly as they began a slow walk along the perimeter of the hall.
"The princess… will have a new stepmother," there was hesitance in her tone that Aerion had recognized immediately despite his few years in the capital, "and the Red Keep will soon grow far too crowded for an older woman who prefers the quietness of the Stormlands. You sense it too, don't you, my Prince? How the air in King's Landing is turning foul."
"Foul indeed," Aerion nodded in agreement, his gaze drifting to Rhaenyra who stood isolated amidst the celebratory chaos and the company of the remainder of her ladies. "Alas, some of us have no choice but to breathe it."
"My Prince," Alfered gave a small bow in the presence of his lord and companion, "the Arryn host has arrived in King's Landing. We must prepare at once."
"I will leave you to your preparations then, Prince Aerion," Lady Alora excused herself, joining the princess and her fellow ladies.
"And my mother?" Aerion tuned to Alfered.
"House Royce is amongst the houses who have joined the Arryn Host, my Prince." Alfered saw the sparkle in the prince's eye as he rushed past him. Perhaps the boy inside of him has yet to be completely replaced to the man he thinks he is.
Aerion did his best to pass through many servants and quick greetings with lords and their daughters through King's Landing before descending the stairs.
With the morning sun looming over Blackwater Bay, the Arryn host had arrived with carriages from all over the Vale.
"Lady Jeyne," Prince Aerion bowed in greeting, along with the rest of his household as he welcomed his liege lord from the Vale. "I welcome you to King's Landing."
Lady Jenye smiled in greeting for the familiar face before her reaching her hand out to the young prince, "Prince Aerion, it's lovely to see you again after all this time."
"Likewise, my Lady," Aerion put his lips to Lady Jeyne's knuckles and grinned.
"I hope that King's Landing has been treating you well."
"I must admit, my Lady," Aerion turned his gaze to his grandsire who stood behind the Warden of the East. "King's Landing has its certain… charms."
Lord Yorbert Royce who had been adviser and protector of the Lady Jeyne since young, wanted to see what the Targaryens of the Crownlands have done to his only grandchild.
What Daemon has done to Rhea Royce's heir.
The older Lord's posture remained rigid, standing behind the Lady Jeyne as the two young ones continued in polite conversations. His hand resting on the pommel of his sword, his eyes glancing around as the men would settle the luggage before settling on his grandson.
Yorbert was old enough to know when young lads wear masks and Prince Aerion was no exception. To the old Lord of Runestone, there was a certain calculated elegance to his grandson's attire. Tailored specifically for the court of the capital, designed to distract the grandees of court life.
The charming prince who would soon wed its princess and future Queen. The boy has learned how to play the game that even Lord Yorbert himself had no interest in in a span of three years alone. Now, especially, that his father is nowhere to be seen due to his untimely banishment to war.
"Grandfather, mother," Aerion greeted, trying to tone down the excitement of a child he was feeling inside.
Lord Yorbert gave a single yet stiff nod, as his gaze lingered on his grandson. "You stand tall, my boy. I see that the capital hasn't made you soft yet."
"My boy," Breaking the stiff courtly tension, Rhea stepped forward and gave her son a warm greeting. He had missed his mother's hug since he had last seen her. "Have you been eating?"
Aerion could have sworn he felt Alfered suddenly become still from behind when that was the first thing his mother had asked of him. In front of Lady Jeyne no less. Regardless of whether she was merely three years older than the young prince, Aerion couldn't help but feel self-conscious.
"Yes, mother, I have been eating." The prince groaned in discomfort.
"Lady Arryn, Lord Royce, Lady Rhea." Rhaenyra was greeted when she arrived in the courtyard, bringing the world to a standstill for a while as everyone welcomed her. The Princess of Dragonstone moved with a measured regal grace, the early sun illuminating the rich Targaryen red of her robe alongside her remaining ladies. "I welcome you to King's Landing."
"Your Grace," Lady Jeyne greeted with a curtsey with movements of grace and composition despite the grueling and painful journey from the Vale. "The pleasure is ours. The journey was long, but the sight of the Red Keep is a welcoming reward."
Yorbert and Rhea bowed in turn, and the elderly Lord Protector's gaze quickly shifted from his grandson to the future Queen. He noticed Rhaenyra's eyes lingering on Aerion for a brief moment, a subtle acknowledgment between the young couple.
Aerion straightened his coat, his previous feeling of embarrassment turning into the familiar mask that his grandfather had seen earlier before the princess' arrival.
"Prince Aerion talked favorably of your relationship in the Eyrie. I hope we come to know each other as well." Rhaenyra smiled. The Arryns of the Vale had been kin and yet, for the princess, they were a strange enigma that she didn't know what to see. Unlike Aerion who had the insights of being raised as a Royce, Rhaenyra was more Targaryen than her late mother.
Jeyne simply dipped her head slightly, a subtle yet knowing smile upon her lips. "The Prince had been a gracious guest, Your Grace, and the Vale does not easily forget those who respect its custom. If he speaks well of us, it is because he understands that the mountains demand patience."
Her gaze shifted quickly to Lord Yorbert Royce, whose severe expression remained unwavering. "I have no doubt we will find common ground. Princess, the blood of our Grandsire, Lord Rodrick Arryn flows in your veins just as it does in mine."
The mention of her mother brought a soft look in Rhaenyra's eyes, appreciating the acknowledgement, knowing that there were many eyes and ears watching, listening from the gallery – with every word whispered in the courtyard being the Red Keep's currency.
Aerion felt the very weight of his grandfather's gaze on him, suddenly feeling the heavy heat of the morning son. Spending three years navigating the delicate turns of the capital, Aerion knew when to smile and when to hold his tongue. His own gaze went to a distant yet distinct figure, Ser Otto Hightower carefully observing as he had made greetings of his own kin and liege lords of Highgarden.
"King's Landing can be quite the labyrinth, my Lady," Aerion chimed in smoothly, having his focus on the Lady Jeyne and the Princess Rhaenyra instead, wanting to bridge the gap and ease the quiet tensions that were forming by the courtyard as it continues to receive their noble guests for the wedding. "But with the Maiden of the Vale here, I do suspect that the Red Keep will find itself a grander place."
Yorbert gave a faint, nearly imperceptible grunt of disapproval, a quiet caution to his grandson not to allow his tongue to become too slippery, especially in close proximity to the Hand. Despite his absence in the capital, Lord Royce knew that games are often played here for his liking.
Lady Rhea, on the other hand, just placed a calming touch on Aerion's arm, her presence serving as a grounding anchor against the coming political storm. Now with the absence of the Rogue Prince in her son's life, even Rhea had to show a sense of caution in a court filled with vipers who wish to have their old on a dragon.
The Arryn host had arrived, the future Queen had greeted them, and the board was finally ready.
--
"I have heard some troubling tales," Lady Rhea spoke as she held her son's arm, taking a stroll through the royal gardens of the Red Keep while the Princess and the Lady Jeyne were having their own discussion by the pavilion with Rhaenyra's ladies with some tea and lemon cakes being served. "Is there any truth to them?"
"If it's about father, I assure you, he will not cause trouble," Aerion reassured his mother, not daring to turn his gaze upon her when he speaks of his father, "not when he's out there at war."
"You don't sound too pleased with the idea."
"My father is at the dangers of war. He… is what he is, but he is my father nevertheless." The whole relationship was complicated. Everyone knew that. Only a fool would deny that. As his mother enjoyed the absence of his father, it was the same vice versa – how Daemon would say that his bronze bitch was happier with his absence.
Both were stubborn with their own sense of family loyalty running deep into their bloods.
"I have seen your father only a good number of times in my life, and even I know he of all people would strive at war… that's why you suggested such things to the council." Aerion sighed at his mother's words. Of course Alfered would tattle. He was practically bound to do so, or his lady mother would shoot an arrow between his legs as she does when she hunts rabbits. "The Targaryens have shaped you into something different… something I couldn't understand but still recognize."
Rhea could recognize that look in her son's eyes. How troubled, how uncertain. It felt like a moon ago when he was a few apples tall and constantly followed her around in Runestone, hiding in her skirts with a giggle she could listen to for days.
She often hoped that one day he would come home. But now, even with Daemon away, she knew that her son would never willingly leave her. "You're not a boy anymore, Aerion. There will come a time when you will be responsible for our people. You remember what your grandsire asked you before you left for King's Landing?"
"Yes," Aerion nodded, "he asked me: What does a man do?"
"And your answer was…?"
"He fights," he said, recalling the very conversation he had with Lord Yorbert merely many moons ago, "and he looks after his family."
"There is no shame in it, my son," Lady Rhea did the best she could to console her son. Giving her own sense of wisdom that she could not years ago, but now, she had come to terms that her boy… was no longer a boy. And he is playing a dangerous game. "You have come to an age where you must grow up and be responsible about such things. You left Runestone a boy, and soon… you will come back a man."
Aerion came to a stop as he felt someone's gaze on them. The hair on the back of his neck sprang up, a reaction piercing the weight of his mother's words.
He looked up and saw the King standing at the high window of the keep's gallery.
King Viserys looked down. From this distance, his uncle's expression was unreadable and yet he could tell that there was a sense of melancholy from how he stood. Viserys had observed the lad who bore his brother's blood and proudly donned the sigils of House Royce despite the heavy Targaryen colors on him.
Perhaps the king saw a glimpse of the peace he so desperately desired for his fractured house. Or an inevitable storm brewing between the dragons and the lords who often continue to climb the ladder – only to fail again, and again, and again.
Aerion held the king's gaze for a heartbeat before lowering his head in greeting. Beside him, Rhea narrowed her eyes slightly as to acknowledge the dragon on the hill, before lowering her head.
"What do you see?" Rhea asked as they continued their walk, excusing themselves from the king's gaze above.
"Power," Aerion answered.
"Power is always dangerous. It attracts the worst. And corrupts at best." Was the very wisdom Rhea had given her son.
--
The wedding was magnificent, befitting a future queen.
The sound of merry music as the nobility danced, the aroma of roasted boars, and the sweetness of wines circulating around the Great Hall in celebration of the King's new nuptials with the new Queen, as they said at the high table greeting their noble guests and thanking them for their presence.
With boastful laughter and soaring toasts of pleasure, Aerion spent his evening with his Vale brethren and Royce relatives. His gaze briefly strayed to the King as he leaned back a little, catching the flare of firelight against his red and black robes.
His Uncle Viserys smiled with every greeting and yet his smile never quite reached his eyes. The burden of the crown held more weight than one would often realize, it was his duty to remarry. Aerion acknowledged that. But it was another to marry a girl whose father held more ambition than the men who inherit what was meant to be. It was a bothersome sight, the Lord Hand sitting beside the King and the new Queen on the other.
But from where he sat, tucked away amongst the banners of the Vale, the mood was different. Lighter, even.
His gaze turned to his cousin Gerold, whose voice was booming loud from where the young Targaryen lad sat, goblet of Dornish wine in hand.
"And then," his cousin continued, creating grand gestures with a half-eaten pigeon in his hand as if he hadn't been raised in a castle, "the merchant insisted that the damned goat knew better! I said, 'good sir, if the goat leads us through the mountain passes in this dang weather, the only one who will have a warm coat by dawn is the dang goat!"
Aerion sighed before letting out a chuckle, it was the kind of tale that their grandsire would hit his older cousin at the back of his skull – it was a tale to tell in the presence of a Targaryen prince perhaps, but never in the presence of a Targaryen princess.
Rhaenyra's laugh was genuine. He could not help but have the edge of his lips curled up even further at the sight of it all. Aerion was delighted that Rhaenyra found comfort in the company of his maternal kin after a long while. She was not the Realm's delight nor its heir at the moment, not even as the slighted daughter of the king – but simply Rhaenyra.
"Careful, Gerold," Aerion lifted his goblet slightly, a smirk across his lips, "our grandsire's eyes are on you from behind."
Cousin Gerold turned his head to see their Lord Yorbert warning him to watch his god dang mouth in the presence of impressionable ladies, most especially the Princess.
"Tired already, cousin?" Gods, he couldn't stop staring at Rhaenyra's smile. He saw the sun before him with a genuine feeling of joy that simply pulled the air right out of his lungs, fighting a certain urge that a man of his station should not even entertain in his mind.
Aerion couldn't help but let out a laugh as he shook his head, "celebrations do take a toll of me."
It was not a strange admission. Rhaenyra of all people knew that her cousin would rather be locked in the quiet solace of his solar or perhaps the library, perhaps even the predictable rhythm of a training yard than the calculated smiles that come with a royal feast. Let alone a royal wedding.
"Are you tired for a dance?"
The princeling could swear his ears were already going red. He felt a sudden yet intense warmth across his cheeks, coming up from the collar of his shirt.
Refusing the Realm's Delight was a sin.
Dancing with her in front of half the court and with his own heart beating like a caged bird in his chest, felt completely perilous.
"A dance?" Aerion managed to find his voice, less steady than he would have liked. He looked up from her outstretched palm to meet such an eager stare from her. The intensity of the flames inside of her eyes was pulling him in, like a dragon searching for his mate. "I promise you, Princess, that my footwork is far more appropriate for a sword than a dance floor. I'd hate to step on the royal toes."
Rhaenyra let out a giggle, making the tips of his ears burn even more. "Then it's a good thing I'm fully capable of leading, cousin. Come, I will not take no for an answer."
Before he could make another polite excuse, her fingers closed around his wrist, warm and completely unyielding. She led him from the shadows of the pillars into the whirling sea of lords and ladies.
As Aerion hesitantly placed his hand upon her waist, he could have sworn that his Royce cousins were cheering somewhere in the distance. That the eyes of every noble lord and lady were suddenly on them as he stood in close proximity to the princess, swaying their arms and matching the rhythms of the steps to the tune of the music.
Suddenly, everything else didn't matter the moment his deep violet gaze was locked onto hers. Almost as if… that all he finds himself being able to breathe for was her. Only her.
"Come with me," he said.
"What?" Rhaenyra blinked as they continued to dance between the crowds.
"To Runestone," he had hoped, the boy he still was, that she would say yes, "only for a few moons. I plan to leave after the celebrations. It would be an honor if you were to come with me… see what the Vale has to offer."
"Are you mad?" Despite the words said, Aerion observed the tiny curls at the border of her lips.
"Absolutely." He grinned.
Off to the Vale they go.